Page 143 of Boulder's Weight

"You saved me," I whisper instead. "Again."

His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing the bruise Benji left. "And I always will. That's what happens when you're claimed."

The word hangs between us.

Claimed.

What started as protection, as a ruse, has become something neither of us expected.

"Is that what I am?" I ask, needing to hear him say it. "Claimed? Truly?"

Boulder's eyes darken, his thumb still stroking my cheek. "Yes, we’ve established this already, Montana. You’re mine to protect, mine to care for." He pauses, something vulnerable flashing across his face. "Mine to love, if you'll let me."

The words steal my breath.

Love.

Such a simple word for such a complex emotion.

I never expected to hear it from him, the man who swore he'd never want an old lady.

"Boulder—"

"You don't have to say anything," he rushes on. "I know this started as protection. I know that wasn't what either of us planned. But somewhere along the way, you became more. Essential. Like breathing."

Tears fill my eyes, not from pain this time, but from the realization that I feel the same way.

That somewhere between Montana and Mexico, between one crisis and another, I fell in love with this complicated, protective, surprisingly tender man.

"I love you too," I whisper, the words coming easily. "I think I have for a while now."

The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise after the longest night.

He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that's gentle, reverent, mindful of my injuries but no less passionate for it.

When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. "We'll find Lashes," he promises. "We'll end this thing with Sally. And then we'll figure out what comes next. Together."

"Together," I agree, the word feeling like a vow.

As sleep finally claims me, I'm aware of Boulder's steady presence beside me, his warmth a shield against the nightmares that would otherwise come.

For the first time since I found those DVDs in my father's closet, I feel something like peace.

I'm not running anymore.

I'm not alone.

I am claimed, in every sense of the word, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Boulder

The clubhouse is quiet, oddly quiet considering how many people are packed inside.

The kind of quiet that settles before something insane happens, like the calm before a storm.

I'm leaning against the wall of church, watching Amara run through the final details of our run on Sally Bernard's compound.

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